


Real

by Septembers_coda



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Castiel Has Issues, Comfort Sex, Crushes, Crying Castiel, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, First Time, Guilt, Guilty Castiel, Hell Trauma, Hugs, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Protective Sam Winchester, Ratings: R, Romance, Sam Has Issues, Sam Winchester's Wall, Season/Series 09, Sexual Content, Virgin Castiel, the great wall of sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1619039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Septembers_coda/pseuds/Septembers_coda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <b><a href="http://lauehime.livejournal.com/9818.html"> Winchester Festival of Hurt/Comfort comment fic meme </a> </b> for this prompt from dreamsofspike: “Early season 9, AU so Cas doesn't have to leave the bunker, maybe there IS no Gadreel at all, too. Cas has nightmares in the bunker. Sam and/or Dean is awakened by them one night, and comforts Cas and helps him through it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real

Cas knew the images weren’t real. There was a part of his now-human brain that understood what a nightmare was, and that he was having one.

He had heard of them, and had seen Sam and Dean experience them. If anyone had a life that would lead to nightmares, it was those two. He had respected their privacy, and had never invaded their dream-space to see what the nightmares actually were, what images had caused Sam to shout himself awake, had caused Dean to grope under his pillow for his gun, standing and aiming before he was even fully awake. After all, they had cause. Sometimes the monsters _were_ there when they woke. 

But Cas did not dream of monsters. He did not even dream of other angels, of God, or Lucifer, or the apocalypse. The figure of his nightmares was himself.

Cas stood, cold-eyed, before himself, and in his hands was a bloodied knife. All the souls of purgatory had been trapped in Dean’s body, and he needed them to take back Heaven and defeat Raphael, so his shadow-self had ripped Dean from throat to navel to get to them. He now turned to Cas, the Cas who was dreaming, and took the knife, scarlet and dripping with Dean’s blood, to tear Cas open and pour the souls inside… the Leviathan, the monsters, and Cas would be taken, would _be_ that dark and hideous god that had already killed Dean, and would kill Sam, and eat children and breathe death and bathe the world in blood…

But Sam was dead, too, consigned to the cage with Lucifer and writhing in torment, torment Cas had brought upon him, because he tore the wall down, and he tore it down again, and again, and Sam fell into flames, screaming his name, and Dean stared up at him from the floor, dead by his hand, eviscerated, splattered with gore, and all the accusations of the world in his blank green eyes, all the agony of hell and terror of purgatory and it was Cas’s fault, all his fault, but he would not stop, would not turn back, could not stop his own murderous grace…

_Please, Sam. Dean! Please. Let me stop. Please make me stop…_

* * *

Sam stumbled, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen of the Bunker. He didn’t glance at his watch, and there was otherwise no saying what time it was in this underground space lost to the days, but it _felt_ very early, or very late.

He needed so much sleep these days, his body still thrashed with painful weakness from the Trials, but he never slept _well._ If Dean knew how poorly, he wouldn’t laugh at Sam’s resemblance to Rip Van Winkle. But Sam would rather have him laugh than worry. 

He heated the kettle for chamomile tea, hoping it would help him get back to sleep before Dean woke up ready to go find another case. He wasn’t really tempted to try Dean’s favorite solution of a few shots of Jack; it seemed like a bad idea while he was still coughing up blood some mornings. He was pouring the water over the teabag when he heard the strangled shout.

He sprinted back to the hallway where the bedrooms were, turning automatically toward Dean’s. But the shout was coming from the other end of the hall.

He opened Cas’s door, grateful it was unlocked, in time to hear him moan, “Sam… Dean…”

“Cas! What’s wrong?” Sam fumbled for a light switch. The light flicked on to reveal Cas, covers twisted into a tourniquet around him, legs half off the bed as he thrashed, trying to free himself from the covers and from his dream.

“Hey. Hey, easy, Cas.” Sam hurried forward and sat down on the bed. He nudged Cas’s legs back onto the bed with his knee, and took hold of his shoulders, shaking gently. 

“Please make me stop,” Cas cried.

“Cas! Wake up! It’s a dream, man. You’re OK…” Sam started back as Cas woke with a strangled gasp, sat up suddenly, and nearly knocked Sam off the bed.

“Sam,” Cas whispered, meeting Sam’s gaze, and his liquid-blue eyes were full of pain, pupils dilated with terror. He stared for a moment, then, without warning, burst into tears.

“Cas! Hey… it’s all right…” Sam stared helplessly for a moment, then groped in his pocket for Kleenex. He found a slightly crumpled one and handed it to Cas, who put it uncertainly to his nose, as if unsure how to use it. His brow was beaded with sweat, his nose and eyes dripping.

“Everything’s so… wet,” he choked after a moment.

Sam huffed a soft laugh. A feeling was growing in him as he looked down at the ex-angel… something not unexpected, but more powerful than before. 

When he had first met Cas, Sam had often imagined touching him. He had come to accept the odd crush that had bewildered him at first, chalking it up to his wish to believe in the higher force of good Cas represented. But as an angel, Cas had seemed… intimidating, unreachable. Sam would never dare. 

Now, Cas was utterly human, and hopelessly, alluringly vulnerable. Sam did not stop himself from smoothing Cas’s brow, pushing his sweaty hair back. The look of pleading sorrow Cas gave him melted Sam’s heart.

“Just a dream, Cas,” Sam murmured, and, giving in to his longing, reached forward and folded Cas into his arms. He rubbed his back, resting his chin on his head. “You’re safe,” he murmured into Cas’s hair.

To Sam’s surprise, Cas leaned eagerly into his embrace, pressing himself to him. He clung to Sam instinctively, and Sam held him tight.

“I did not know dreams could be so powerful,” he said. “Sam. I’m sorry. I… have done you so much wrong. You and Dean. I’m so sorry. Oh, Sam. I brought you out without your soul, and I sent you back, you fell into the flames… you were screaming…”

“Just a dream, Cas.” Sam squeezed Cas tightly, then dared to press his lips to his head. “You saved me. So many times. So many ways. I…” 

Cas leaned back in Sam’s embrace and looked up, startled, when he felt Sam’s lips. Sam broke off, caught by his gaze, then lifted his hand to cup Cas’s face, stroking the tears away with his thumb.

Seizing the moment, before he could stop himself, Sam kissed him. He could never have imagined it would feel so natural, so right, that Cas would kiss him back, pull him closer instead of going stiff and pulling away, as Sam had always feared he would.

Sam crawled into bed with Cas, rearranging them so he could hold him closer, press the length of his body to his. “You have nothing to apologize to me for, Cas,” he murmured. “Nothing you should have nightmares about. I don’t want you to be afraid.” He crushed Cas in his arms, feeling his breath go ragged and his heart beat faster, craving an almost painful closeness.

Cas held him as tightly as he could wish, his fingers tangling in Sam’s hair as he brought his face to his for another kiss. “Please stay with me, Sam,” he whispered against his lips.

“I will,” Sam said, his hot hands sliding under Cas’s clothes, sensuous against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

***

Cas wondered if he was still dreaming. Now the dreams had taken on an entirely different tone, of the kind that humans meant when they wished each other sweet dreams… pipedreams… wet dreams…

This could not be real.

He had imagined this before… Sam’s incomparably beautiful body sliding against his, his strong arms wrapped around him, his open mouth caressing his. Desire for Sam had stirred in him even before he was human, subject to lusts his celestial self had never imagined, lusts that were now expanded and inflamed and thoroughly satisfied. But he had never dreamed like this, breathless sweetness rocking into unbearable ecstasy, Sam’s cries of pleasure filling his ears, his taste and his scent and the sweat of his body swelling through every sense, overwhelming him, taming the monster of his guilt and the secret shame of his desires and sending to sleep the pain that had haunted him for years, the pain of causing grievous hurt to someone he loved. Loved, he now realized, beyond doubt or reason, beyond heaven and hell and humanity, all.

This could only be real.

~The End~


End file.
